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Even life quits

By
Punished for insubordination
Instructions like just go die
And get out of my sight
This is how they use their imagination.
Sometimes I wish to die
But then I take flight
My true home
Packed in a bowl
This is my soul
My life
Stress puts me to the test
Will I survive?
Which beatings are worse?
People say this makes me stronger then the rest.
I am no match for the drugs.
Instant access
This is my out
At home I am a slug
With a salt shaker above my head
The four-year-old is crying
But I am already dead
Drugs are my life
I won’t admit to the rest
For God has put me to the test.





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